“Then why are you agreeing?” she asked.
His gaze moved briefly to the clothes dancing in the breeze.
“Because I came for you.”
The words were simple, but they made her grip the clothespin tighter.
“You do not know me.”
“I know enough to ask.”
“How?”
“I have seen you before.”
That surprised her.
“At the roadside two weeks ago, when rain started, you pulled an old woman under the shop awning before covering yourself. The next day, I saw you at the market. A tomato seller dropped her tray and everyone stepped over her produce. You knelt to help gather it. Last week, outside this gate, a little boy was crying because another boy stole his bread. You gave him yours.”
Nia searched her memory. She remembered those moments. She did not remember him.
Perhaps because no one imagines they are being noticed when they are simply being themselves.
“You watched me?” she asked.
“I observed,” he replied. “There is a difference.”
His answer was so calm that she almost smiled, but the smile died quickly.
“You appear poor,” she said before she could stop herself.
He inclined his head. “Yes.”
“You limp.”
“Yes.”
“My uncle thinks he is punishing me by giving me to you.”
“I know.”
“Does that not offend you?”
A shadow of humor passed through his eyes.
“It does. But not enough to stop me.”
She studied him more openly. He was not handsome in the polished city way that made girls whisper, but there was something steady about him. His shoulders were straight. His speech had weight. Even his old clothes seemed chosen, not accidental.
“What kind of life are you offering?” she asked quietly.
“An honest one.”
“That is a small answer.”
“It is also a rare one.”
The wind lifted the cloth between them.
Nia swallowed.
